


Exile

by HeavyShoegaze



Series: Arthur Dayne/Lyanna Stark Stories [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, What happens when a crack pairing gets stuck in your head, or writing the story I should be writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 07:17:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15019478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeavyShoegaze/pseuds/HeavyShoegaze
Summary: Lyanna and Arthur survive the Tower of Joy and raise Jon in Essos





	Exile

 Exile

 

 

The waves crashed against the Volanese shore, the crystal-clear water gliding across the sands of the beach. The sun had just started to set, barely touching the horizon and dyeing the clear blue sky with shades of orange and violet. The breeze, salty from the ocean and cool from the evening, drifted across the coast, brushing the nearby trees with a slight whoosh and drifting through the leaves. The few clouds drifted lazily across the sky, huge white behemoths that started to color as they neared the sunset. The beach echoed with the roar of the ocean, the sound of the crashing waves only interrupted by the clash of swords.

Lyanna couldn’t help but mutter a curse as Arthur’s practice sword caught her in the back of the hand, knocking her own blunted blade from her hands. She shook her throbbing hand, rubbing the battered flesh hoping it wouldn’t bruise, and looked around for Jon, making sure that the toddler didn’t hear his mother swear or worse, repeat it back to her. Lyanna was already getting enough lectures from Arthur about her supposed lack of parenting skills. The last thing she needed was for Jon to start shouting _‘fuck!_ ’ like his foul-mouthed mother.

Before Arthur could gloat, Lyanna picked up her sword and charged him, aiming an overhead attack at the top of his skull. Arthur would never make that kind of move; he was terrified of the possibility of hurting Lyanna. Lyanna had no such qualms – Arthur had an unnatural ability to read all of her attacks, even when his back was turned – and swung with all her might, letting out an involuntary cry. She fully expected Arthur to turn around and block her attack, probably smirking at her attempt to catch him off guard. Instead, Arthur sidestepped her entirely, showing off a grace and elegance that should’ve been impossible for a man of his size and build. Arthur avoided the swinging sword completely, making Lyanna stumble forwards, her bare feet splashing in the surf as she tried to get back in stance. Arthur could’ve disarmed her or struck at her in half a million different ways, but instead he chose to stand with his hands – and his sword – behind his back. Arthur tilted his head slightly, giving Lyanna a cheeky half smile and jutting his chin, inviting her to take another swing. Lyanna knew he was baiting her, and by the Gods did it work, her wolfsblood boiling over. She swung at him viciously, letting out increasingly frustrated cries as her sword found naught but air. Arthur read her attacks perfectly, seemingly more fluent in her body language than in the Common Tongue. He knew exactly how to move so he was just out of reach, letting Lyanna take swing after fruitless swing. He kept flashing Lyanna that same cocky half-smile, the corners of his lips tugging upwards with every failed attack. After sidestepping a thrust aimed straight for his heart, Arthur grabbed Lyanna’s wrist and stuck a foot between her tangled ones. Lyanna let out a squeak as she tripped and fell face-first into the wet sands – just as a larger-than-normal wave crashed on the shore, soaking her from head to toe. Lyanna looked up through dripping hair to see Arthur doubled over in laughter, his sword still held lazily behind his back.

“You did that on purpose!” Lyanna sputtered, absolutely chagrined. Arthur merely shrugged and somehow, that was the most frustrating response he could have given. Lyanna made to grab her sword again, but Arthur stood on the blade, making her tug on the hilt ineffectually. Lyanna turned away from his smug grin to see Benjen and Jon sitting under a tree. Jon was toddling around, exploring his newfound walking ability and babbling away. Benjen took a break from taking random leaves and rocks from Jon’s mouth to laugh at Lyanna’s failings. Even Jon seemed to enjoy his mother’s utter defeat, giggling at his uncle’s laughter and clapping his little hands.

“I think the Knight of the Laughing Tree should stick to jousting, eh Jon?” Benjen called, hooting as Lyanna made another attempt on Arthur’s life. “Or perhaps the Sword of the Morning is just a more formidable opponent than some idiot Frey knight.”

“Shut. It. Ben!” Lya called back, shouting the words between swings. This time, Arthur dropped the charade and actually fought back, making sure to test her defenses. Lyanna did a good job of deflecting his blows, taking his advice to avoid directly blocking his harder strikes. “I think I’ve got him,” Lyanna declared, blocking a sweep at her knees and swinging back with a couple of strikes of her own. Sure enough, as soon as she said the words, Arthur caught the crossguard of her sword with his blade and used the length of his sword as leverage to flick Lya’s out of her hands. Just to show off further, Arthur caught the hilt of Lya’s sword on his foot and kicked it up and into his off hand. “Stop showing off,” she grumbled as Arthur reversed his grip on her sword and held it out to her. Lyanna took the sword with a huff and took a step back, finding her stance. Arthur gave her an approving nod as she made sure her feet were an appropriate distance apart and bent her knees, lowering her center of gravity. Arthur’s eyes, deep violet pools that sparkled when he smiled, dipped slightly at her hands, making Lyanna notice that she was gripping her sword too tightly. She readjusted her grip the way Arthur taught her, with her sword hand right under the crossguard and her other one at the pommel. Arthur nodded silently before taking up his sword, twirling it lazily in one hand like he was wont to do when he was bored. Lyanna wasn’t fooled though, Arthur could turn from absentminded indifference to master swordsman faster than the blink of an eye. Lyanna narrowed her eyes, trying to read Arthur’s defenses and predict his attack. Arthur rushed to her right and Lyanna reacted without thinking, bringing her sword up to block his attack. Unfortunately, Arthur’s attack was a feint, a sneaky bit of misdirection, and Lya took the bait, over-extending in her eagerness to block his attack. Arthur took advantage of her mistake to attack her left ruthlessly, making Lyanna stumble awkwardly, her feet sliding around underneath her as she twisted to block his attacks. Lyanna’s feet caught when Arthur’s sword twisted her own, and she struggled not to let go of her sword and twisted uncomfortably, letting Arthur tie her in knots until she lost her balance and for seemingly the hundredth time that day, she found herself with a mouthful of wet sand.

Through the corner of her eye, Lyanna could see Arthur roll his eyes. He’d spent _weeks_ trying to improve Lyanna’s posture and footwork, breaking down the bad habits she’d learnt from swinging sticks and watching her brothers’ lessons with Ser Rodrick Cassel, the master at arms in Winterfell. _‘By the Gods, your form is atrocious. Whoever taught you doesn’t deserve to play with sticks, let alone wield a sword,’_ Arthur had snarked when she first asked him to train her. _‘Bran taught me when father wasn’t looking,’_ she’d retorted. Nowadays, the mention of her dead brother and father would draw a guilty look from Arthur, who still blamed himself for the horrors that had befallen her family. Lyanna never understood his guilt. Of all those who’d erred in the years leading to the rebellion – herself, Rhaegar, Robert, Tywin Lannister, Brandon – Arthur always seemed the most honorable. If anything, Lyanna was the one who felt guilty, remembering Arthur with his white scaled armor and Kingsguard cloak and _Dawn_. Not a day passed that Lyanna didn’t wish Arthur could return to his days of glory as the Sword of the Morning, the finest knight in the Seven Kingdoms instead of nameless exile with a only a foolish girl and her son for company.

Before Lyanna could depress herself further, Arthur gave her a smirk that never failed to cheer her spirits. Everyone knew Ser Arthur Dayne the noble and true Kingsguard knight, but only those close to the knight saw the cocky, insufferable son-of-a-bitch who absolutely _knew_ he was the deadliest man to ever wield a sword. Before the rebellion, when Lyanna was just a girl with dreams of freedom, Arthur would delight in teasing her about her Northern roots. _‘Well, no wonder the Starks aren’t well known for their swordsmanship, if that’s how it’s taught in Winterfell,’_ he’d retort, the gleam in his eyes challenging her to prove him wrong. Lya would retort that Bran or Ser Rodrick would be more than able to put the Dornish knight in his place. After the battle at the Tower of Joy, though, Arthur was far more reluctant to discuss the Cassels, the Wulls, or any other of the families of the men he’d slain protecting Lyanna and her son. It was only when Benjen sailed across the Narrow Sea to find her that Lyanna learnt about the battle at the foot of the tower. Benjen was the only person to hear the story from Ned and Howland, the only survivors from the party of Northmen led by the young Lord of Winterfell. According to Benjen, Arthur had more than lived up to his deadly reputation, backing up his teasing with the finest swordsmanship Ned had ever seen, easily outclassing some of the best warriors the North had. It was only for Lyanna that Ned Stark was allowed to see his sister – with Ser Arthur holding Dawn to Ned’s throat, it was clear who the victor of the battle at the base of the Tower of Joy.

“I’ve seen poorer than that last attempt,” Arthur said, hoping to mollify Lyanna’s frustration. It didn’t work, as he could likely surmise from the way she pounded the sand, panting in exhaustion and glaring furiously.

“Really,” Lyanna drawled sarcastically. “I’m sure you were fearing for your life, Ser Arthur.” Arthur grinned. When Lyanna first asked him to train her, he’d balked. There was a reason why he’d never taken a squire. Jaime Lannister came the closest, riding with Arthur against the Kingswood Brotherhood, but no one had truly studied under the Sword of the Morning. Arthur wasn’t the best teacher; he had a hard time conveying what came naturally to those without his own innate talent. The only time Arthur’s temper ever flared was when someone didn’t understand his instructions. More often than not, some young boy with dreams of learning under the deadliest knight of the Kingsguard would approach him only to be sent away in tears when Arthur grew frustrated with his inability to keep up. Such were the problems with having such prodigious talent, and Lyanna knew Arthur was apprehensive about taking her as a pupil lest he force her away. After all they had been through and all they had lost, Lyanna was his closest friend, and the last thing Arthur wanted was to alienate her.

Arthur’s fears couldn’t be further from the truth. No matter how rough he was, how many times he knocked her to the ground, or how brutally he criticized her, Lyanna always got up, sword in hand, and continued. Her stubbornness was admirable, and Arthur found that she’d improved significantly, even if her stances were still a bit clumsy and her cuts too wild. _‘The Wall wasn’t built in a day,’_ he’d say encouragingly whenever Lyanna would get frustrated. _‘Though I’d sooner see a seven hundred foot ice wall in Sunspear than Lyanna Stark execute a decent middle counter,’_ he’d mutter under his breath. It didn’t have the bite that it used to, though, and Lyanna could swear Arthur was enjoying their daily lessons in a way he’d never done with anyone else.

“It’s not my life I fear for when ever you pick up a sword, my Lady,” Arthur grinned. “Your own, definitely. Jon’s and Benjen’s, certainly. But I’d sooner fear for the Lord Commander of Night’s Watch than myself. The Gods know your wild swings are more likely to hit Castle Black than they are _this wonderful face_.” Arthur gestured to his own face with the sort of smugness only exhibited by a man who’d been told he was the best since childhood. Lyanna vowed to be the one to finally teach the famous knight some humility, and charged with a yell, swinging directly at that handsome face of his.

True to his words, Arthur blocked the blow with ease, parrying the strike upwards and disarming her with a flick of his wrist. The sword flew upwards wildly, and Lyanna ducked and covered her head with her arms, praying to the Old Gods and the New that Arthur wouldn’t let the sword land on her head. Sure enough, when Lyanna looked up, she saw Arthur casually catch the sword in his off-hand right over her forehead, a bemused smirk on his lips. His violet eyes were dancing with mirth, a thousand sarcastic remarks playing in the twinkle of his eyes. Lyanna flushed as she stood up, smoothing her tunic and hoping Arthur didn’t notice her cowering.

“I wonder if a hundred Kingsguard knights would be enough to keep you from injuring yourself,” he drawled, handing back the sword.

“Thankfully I have the best one to protect me,” Lyanna said, giving Arthur her sweetest smile. Arthur’s teasing smirk shifted to a more genuine, almost _loving_ smile, so of course Lyanna had to attack, hoping to catch Arthur with his guard down. Arthur just rolled his eyes and parried, this time twisting Lyanna’s wrist until her sword was pointing back at her face. Lyanna groaned, wondering if there was a more humiliating way to lose. As if to answer her question, Arthur again caught her ankle with his foot and tripped her, sending her crashing into the wet sand. “Bloody fucking hell!” Lyanna shrieked loudly as she tumbled through the air.

“It’s times like these that I can’t believe you’re a mother,” Arthur drawled disapprovingly, his eyes flickering towards where Jon was standing over her. The boy was wide-eyed through his long black curls as he looked down on his mother. There were tears in his eyes and his lip quivered slightly, and Lyanna figured Jon was worried she’d been hurt. Before Jon could start crying, Lyanna sat up and scooped him into her arms, pressing a kiss onto the top of his head and whispering soothing words. Despite Arthur’s sarcastic remark, Lyanna could tell he was genuinely concerned, and he knelt down to eye-level with Jon.

“Shh. It’s ok, Jon,” Lyanna said softly. “Mama’s alright. We were just playing, is all.” Arthur snorted at the word _playing_ , but wisely didn’t say anything when Lyanna glared at him. Jon looked at her wide-eyed as if searching her face for a lie. Lyanna gave her son a bright smile and brushed the hair from his face, tucking the curls behind his ear. Jon gave her and Arthur an appraising look before deciding that she was telling the truth and returning his mother’s crooked grin with one of his own.

“Mama!” Jon said happily, holding out his little arms for a hug, which Lyanna gladly gave him. It was only when he turned to Arthur that it became a little strange.

“Papa!” Jon said with equal energy, reaching for Arthur. Apparently, Jon wanted a family hug. Arthur froze, the nervous expression out of place on his usually cocky face. Lyanna understood his apprehension; Jon had easily identified Lyanna as his mother but hadn’t ever really looked for a father. He recognized Ben as an uncle, and Lyanna assumed that he saw Arthur in much the same way. Apparently, Jon had assumed Arthur was his father the whole time. Lyanna guessed that was a reasonable assumption given how close she and Arthur were, but she also understood why _Rhaegar’s_ son calling him ‘Papa’ would make Arthur feel a medley of discomfort, fear, and guilt. Lyanna gave Arthur a small smile and reached out to grab his forearm and pull him closer. Arthur hesitated for a second before giving in to Jon’s pleading dark-grey eyes, sitting next to Lyanna, and taking Jon onto his lap.

“I need a shave,” Arthur mused quietly, chuckling as Jon ran a small hand across the light stubble on his tanned face. Jon giggled at Arthur’s prickly cheeks, which Arthur took as a sign of agreement. Lyanna rolled her eyes at Arthur’s unwavering disdain for any manner of facial hair, even Benjen’s short cropped beard. This light peppering of stubble was the most she’d seen Arthur grow, but Rhaegar had assured her that the Daynes of Starfall could grow beards long enough to rival even the shaggiest of wildlings. “You need a haircut too,” Arthur said, twirling Jon’s curls around a finger. “Soon your hair will be longer than your mother’s.”

“Good luck with that,” Lyanna snorted. “I can’t get the shears anywhere near Jon’s head without him bursting into tears. I don’t think any little boy has loved anything as much as Jon loves his hair.” She and Arthur shared a sad smile. _Jon gets that from Rhaegar_ , Lyanna thought, remembering how lovingly she used to run her hand through Rhaegar’s curls as he lay next to her singing softly into her ear. She and Arthur used to take the piss out of Rhaegar for the way he lovingly washed his hair every morning. At the time, Lyanna just rolled her eyes whenever Rhaegar started brushing his soft curls into a mirror sheen, but even a few years after his death she found her fingers itching to twirl silver strands. No doubt Arthur was thinking the same thing. Seeing Arthur’s familiar, I-feel-guilty-for-usurping-my-dead-best-friend’s-wife-and-son expression, Lyanna tried to turn the topic away from her dead husband and towards more light-hearted waters. “Though he gets all that vanity and preening from you, Arthur,” Lyanna said with a mock scowl, jabbing Arthur in the chest.

“It’s not _vanity_!” Arthur said, feigning chagrin. Lyanna could tell his spirits were raised by the renewed twinkle in his eyes. Arthur did always have the most expressive eyes. “I just think a man should care for his appearance.”

“There’s nothing wrong with a short beard, though,” Lyanna insisted. Both her father and Brandon wore beards, and in according to Benjen even _Ned_ had started growing one. Truthfully, they reminded Lyanna of home, of the North. After three years in exile, Lyanna clung to what she could remember of her life before the Rebellion. “It makes you look _manly_.”

“It makes you look like a wildling!” Arthur scoffed. “The Daynes of Starfall have always kept their faces clean.”

“You poncy Southrons,” Lyanna said dismissively, shaking her head. “In the North we don’t have the luxury of obsessing over our looks.”

“So you prefer your suitors rough and uncouth?” Arthur asked, his tone inquisitive. Lyanna had to smile sadly at the question. In truth, Rhaegar’s clean-shaven appearance was always more attractive than say, Robert Baratheon’s wild, wiry beard. Lyanna didn’t know how to say that Benjen growing a beard made her feel like a Stark again in some strange way. She didn’t have to – Arthur was always perceptive – so she just smiled and tilted her head. Arthur gave her a mischievous grin. “Tell me, Your Grace. Do you find _this_ attractive?” With that, he lunged forwards, rubbing his scratchy cheeks and jaw into Lyanna’s exposed neck. Lyanna shrieked and tried to push him away.

“Gods, Arthur! Stop! Please!” Lyanna yelped. She could hear Benjen laughing in the background, and Jon started giggling at his mother and ‘father’s’ antics. “I yield! I yield! Please! No more!” she gasped. “I’ll shave your face! I promise! Just stop!” Arthur just laughed some more until another wave crashed into the three of them. Arthur, Lyanna, and Jon sat together in the wet sand, laughing as Arthur and Lyanna wiped salty water from Jon’s eyes. The boy seemed fascinated by his wet tunic and the way it clung to his skinny body, and he kept pulling at his tunic and watching as it stuck to his stomach.

“Papa! Look!” Jon said, pulling Arthur’s attention. Lyanna took a second to look at Arthur, who seemed even handsomer as the sun dipped below the horizon. He smiled down at Jon, who was babbling about something. Arthur leaned down and brushed Jon’s wet hair, shaking the sea water out of his matted locks. It was a beautiful sight, Lyanna thought, watching Jon reach for Arthur’s silver hair, fascinated by the color. Arthur chuckled, leaning his head down into Jon’s hands. Lyanna laughed as Jon pulled Arthur’s hair and the knight winced. He’d grown it out since their exile, and his silver curls came down to his jaw when not tucked behind his ear. Arthur tried to pull away from Jon gently, but the boy’s grip was tight, and Jon was strangely adamant about not letting go.

“Alright, you little hellion,” Benjen said, coming to Arthur’s rescue. “The hour’s late, and you need dinner.” Benjen picked up the soaking boy, who squirmed and giggled as he released the Dornish knight. “A bath wouldn’t go amiss either,” Benjen said, sniffing the top of Jon’s head and wrinkling his nose. Jon’s eyes widened comically, and he started pushing away.

“No bath! No!” Jon squealed. He pushed against Ben’s face with his little hands, and Lyanna collapsed with laughter at Ben’s uncomfortable face. Benjen groaned as Jon’s hands found his nose and ears, poking and pulling in defiance. “No!” he shouted into Benjen’s ear, and the poor uncle fisted Jon’s tunic with one hand and pulled Jon’s arm away with the other. Benjen gave Lyanna a look as if to say, _‘You brought this fate upon me,’_ and he loosened his grip ever-so-slightly. Jon pulled free from his soaked tunic, leaving Benjen with the wet fabric as he tore down the shoreline, screaming and giggling.

“I suppose someone needs to get the boy before he gets washed out into the sea,” Benjen drawled, looking to where Lyanna and Arthur were still sitting close together, laughing at the boy’s antics. “ _Fine,_ I’ll do it,” he grumbled, noting Arthur’s arm around Lyanna’s hip. Neither were listening to him, watching instead as Jon kicked sand and surf, splashing the foam about as the waves erased his footprints from the wet sand. Arthur’s trained Kingsguard eyes tracked Jon’s steps, but every so often he’d turn to watch Lyanna watch her son, his eyes dipping to where she absentmindedly chewed on her bottom lip. Ben shook his head as he got to his feet, hoping his sister and her loyal knight appreciated all he did for them. He caught Arthur’s eyes and smirked, tossing the Dornishman a smug wink and gesturing with his head to Lyanna. Arthur smiled softly and nodded gently, the hand around Lyanna fidgeting but not leaving her side. _I guess I’ll have something else to report to Ned when I go back to Winterfell,_ Benjen thought wryly as he ran off after Jon, who’d stopped in front of a crab. Jon crouched down in front of the animal with a curious look in his eyes.

“Jon! No!” Lyanna called anxiously. “Don’t touch that crab!” The crab bared its claws in defiance at the little boy. For his part, Jon simply eyed the crab with wide eyes. Lyanna knew he’d never seen a crab before, and she recognized that awestruck curiosity from her own youth in Winterfell a lifetime ago. _Back when Bran and Father had to pull me away from trying to pet a bear cub or feed a wolf_ , Lyanna thought sadly. She’d never appreciated their overprotectiveness back when they were alive – she’d found the men in her life controlling and overbearing and hypocritical, pushing her into a gilded cage while enjoying the kind of freedom she craved over anything else. Only now did she recognize the care and worry behind their control. Only with a young child of her own did she truly understand the reckless fear that sent her brother and father to King’s Landing and their deaths.

Jon turned at his mother’s voice, his wet black curls whipping around as he looked away from the crab. Instead of taking the opportunity to run away, the crab reached out with one claw and pinched a lock of Jon’s hair. Instantly, Jon sat up, whipping his head back and forth as he tried to shake the crab off. Before Benjen could reach him to pull the crab off, Jon started running in a circle, shouting and yelping and trying to pull the crab away from his head. There were a few tears in his eyes, but the boy hadn’t started crying yet; Lyanna wondered if he was torn between crying and laughing as she was sometimes wont to do.

Luckily for Jon, Benjen swooped him up in his arms, grabbing the crab by his hard shell. He tried to gently pry the crab’s claw open to release Jon’s hair, but he made the fatal mistake of getting too close, and the crab reached out with its other claw and pinched Ben right on the nose. With a decidedly unmanly, high-pitched shriek, Benjen fell backwards, eyes crossed in pain as the crab released Jon and pinched the hand Benjen threw out to pull the crab off of his face. Ben grimaced as the crab’s spindly legs puttered around on his cheeks and forehead, closing his eyes to keep them from getting poked. Jon had apparently decided between laughing and crying, and his tears were now the product of uncontrollable giggles. Lyanna looked up to where Arthur was softly chuckling, shaking his silver curls. She had the strange urge to run her fingers through them.

“Aha!” Ben shouted triumphantly, pulling the crab from his nose. Lyanna winced at the redness and sparse drops of blood from the pinch on her younger brother’s face, but Benjen seemed oblivious to his new injury. He held up the hand with the crab dangling from his finger. Ben shook his hand back and forth, but the crab stubbornly held on. Benjen grabbed the crab from the back, wisely avoiding its other claw, and started to pull, gritting his teeth as the crab pinched his finger. “Come on, you bastard,” he muttered, eyes locked on the small animal. Lyanna had to bite her cheek not to laugh at Ben’s determination or Arthur’s slight disapproval at his coarse language. Lyanna knew that had she been in Ben’s position, Arthur would have immediately sprung up to assist her only to back away and leave her to her own devices when she swore in front of Jon. Lyanna rolled her eyes at the way her son evoked this strange overprotectiveness from the Dornishman and went back to hooting and hollering her support for Ben. With Jon cheering him, Ben roared with fury and pulled the crab off his now swollen little finger. Jon threw up his little hands in support and Lyanna whistled loudly with her thumb and forefinger – a skill she must’ve never shown Arthur, from the way he looked at her with amazement and pride. With a final exclamation of _“Fuck you!”_ Ben reared back and threw the struggling crab into the sea as hard as he could. Though perhaps unnecessary, strictly speaking, Lyanna had to admit Ben knew how to put on a show for his nephew. She doubted Arthur would agree, though, for he rolled his bright violet eyes again at Benjen’s language.

“You’d better watch your mouth there,” Arthur drawled threateningly. “If I catch Jon repeating that, there’ll be seven hells to pay.” He gave Ben a wicked smirk, and Ben shivered slightly. Even without his famous sword, his scaled armor, or his white cloak, Arthur Dayne was still a formidable presence. Just his build alone was enough to make most men think twice: whereas Rhaegar was lean and tall and beautiful, Arthur was much more rugged and strong. He was taller than any man Lyanna ever met save _perhaps_ the GreatJon and he was broad and well-defined with not an inch of fat. He was a living weapon, as beautiful and deadly as Dawn, and even in exile he’d managed to keep up his impressive physique. Benjen never let her forget the number of times he’d caught Lyanna staring at the way Arthur’s sweat-soaked tunic clung to the muscles on his arms, chest, and stomach. No, Arthur was a distinct man, to say the least, and Lyanna wondered how she could have ever thought of him as Rhaegar’s shadow.

“Sometimes I wonder which of you is the boy’s mother,” Ben shot back, picking up Jon and carrying the boy on his shoulders. Jon immediately wrapped his tiny arms around the top of Ben’s head, mischievously pulling on his hair. “Ow. Seven hells. I should’ve taken the Black,” Ben grumbled, walking back to the beachside cottage owned by the Daynes where the two no doubt intended to plunder the kitchens – Lyanna had gotten many complaints from the cooks regarding Benjen’s midnight raids of their pantries. She always lectured Benjen shamelessly on his gluttony. After all, she was smart enough not to get caught.

“Make sure you wash him!” Lyanna called, getting a rude gesture from Benjen in response. “Gods, those two.”

“I told you we needed to clip Jon’s hair,” Arthur gently reminded her. Lyanna rolled his eyes and reluctantly pulled away from Arthur’s close grip, immediately feeling the loss of his hard, warm, wet body against her own.

“Ben was right,” Lyanna said, looking out across the sea to where the sun had mostly dipped below the waves. “The hour is late, and we don’t have much sunlight left.” She picked up one of the practice swords. “One more spar?” she asked softly.

“Of course, Princess,” Arthur answered, picking up his own blunted blade.

Lyanna gripped her sword eagerly, ready for one last chance to prove herself before night forced them inside. Arthur took up his stance and pointed his sword at Lyanna, cocking his head slightly and inviting her to take the first swing. This time, Lyanna was careful, her eyes flicking from Arthur’s sword hand to his bare feet to his purple eyes sparkling with amusement. Lyanna’s eyes dipped down slightly and lingered at where Arthur’s wet tunic clung to the hard planes of his chest. When she looked back up, Lyanna found Arthur grinning mischievously and she felt her cheeks warm and flush. Arthur winked and grabbed the hem of his tunic with one hand and pulled the tunic over his head, baring his chest in the cooling nighttime air. Lyanna was hypnotized by the taut, corded muscles on Arthur’s bronzed torso, and she briefly dipped her sword as her jaw hung open.

With a blinding speed that shouldn’t have been possible for any man, let alone one of Arthur’s size, the knight attacked. Lyanna hesitated but brought her sword up just in time, deflecting the blow away. She couldn’t counter attack, though, for Arthur seemed to predict how she’d repel his initial strike and followed up with another. It was all Lyanna could do to keep blocking his attacks, trying to keep her eyes on Arthur’s sword and not on the way his body twisted and moved. As Lyanna was forced backwards, Arthur paused for a second, letting her catch her balance. _Chivalrous as always._ Lyanna flashed Arthur a crooked grin and attacked, swinging with all her might. Arthur merely rolled his eyes at the way Lyanna again hacked and slashed, lacking his finesse and dexterity. He caught Lyanna’s sword on his crossguard and with a flick of his wrist disarmed her, throwing her off balance. This time, Arthur reached out with his off hand and caught her on his arm as she fell. There was a brief moment where Lyanna stared up into his eyes, the purple reduced to a ring around his blown-wide, black pupils, before Arthur pulled her up to catch her lips in a kiss.

For all their tentative intimacy, their first kiss bypassed the awkwardness for a kind of desperate passion. As she shut her eyes and leaned into his embrace, Lyanna reached a hand up to Arthur’s soft pale hair and tangled her fingers through his curls. The other hand cupped his scratchy cheek and well-defined jaw. She felt Arthur cast his sword away and pull her up to the top of her toes – and even then, he had to lean down a fair bit – hungrily swallowing her soft mewls and gasps like a man starved. Lyanna felt Arthur’s hands growing restless on her hips, tracing lines up and down her sides, and she felt herself at the edge of an abyss. She’d stared into its depth only once before, with a beautiful prince in the Godswood of Harranhall, and like a reckless, foolish girl, she’d dove in headfirst. Feeling herself melt into Arthur, Lyanna felt the overwhelming temptation to let go again, to give herself and her heart away again and hope for a better future this time. Lyanna felt herself press tightly against Arthur, getting as close as possible. With only her own tunic separating them, Lyanna felt Arthur pull away ever so slightly. She opened her eyes to protest but was silenced by the intense look in Arthur’s eyes.

“It started in Harranhall,” Arthur whispered softly against her lips, his voice barely registering against the crashing of the waves behind them yet burning in Lyanna’s ears. “I saw you remove the mystery knight’s helmet and set down his shield and I was lost.” Lyanna was stunned into speechlessness, remembering the tourney all those years ago. Ser Arthur Dayne seemed every bit the true knight everyone knew him as, and Lyanna didn’t think it was possible _she’d_ catch his eye. “Joining the Kingsguard was supposed to be the highest honor a knight could aspire to,” Arthur continued, “but I found myself watching as the King murdered innocent children, standing guard as he raped Queen Rhaella, and I felt like the greatest monster in the Seven Kingdoms. I swore a vow to protect the King, yes, but I also swore to be brave. I also swore to be just, and to defend the young and innocent, and to protect all women. And yet I stood by as my King went mad, and I did nothing.” Arthur shook his head, his eyes showing a strange sort of vulnerability. “Then, in Harranhall, I saw someone who showed the courage I never did. Someone who defied the King, who risked her reputation and her life to defend the honor of her friend. A woman as beautiful as the Maid herself, yet as true a knight as I’ve ever seen.” Arthur curled a hand under Lyanna’s chin and stroked her cheek with his thumb. “I’ve loved her ever since,” Arthur said, swallowing thickly. “I had no right to. She was betrothed to the Stormlord, then she fell in love with my best friend, and I swore a vow. I swore never to give my heart away, yet there was nothing I could do. I loved her, and when I had her brother at the end of my sword, all I could think about was her begging me to spare her brother’s life. For the first time, I realized she might die. I’d lost Rhaegar, Jonothor, Lewyn, Elia, Rhaenys, Aegon, Ashara, Gerold, Os… I’d lost Barristan, who knighted me, and Jaime, who I knighted not so long ago. And I realized, I might lose the last thing I had left in the world, the last person I loved. Her last words to me might have been asking to see her brother, and for the first time, I broke my vow. I forswore my honor and lowered my sword.”

Lyanna knew the story of the battle at the base of the Tower of Joy but hearing it from Arthur was another thing. He’d left his white scaled armor and his Kingsguard cloak and _Dawn_ in Starfall before the three of them had let for their life in exile, thought dead by the realm and never to return to their homes. She’d always assumed he’d left behind his knightly finery and trappings in order to better sell the lie and to keep fewer things that might identify them. Watching Arthur return Dawn to its holding place, knowing it would never be swung again in his lifetime had been heartbreaking, one final reminder of how many people had lost everything because of her. Lyanna hadn’t expected Arthur to ever forgive her, and she’d all but begged him not to follow her, not to throw away his wonderful life for her. Yet Arthur was honorable to a fault, and a true knight even in a tunic and trousers, and he never once mentioned what all he’d given up.

“I’m sorry,” Lyanna whispered, feeling tears in her eyes. “I’m so sorry.” Arthur smiled a soft smile, the kind that pooled warmth in her stomach, and he brushed the tears from her cheeks.

“There’s nothing to forgive, Lya,” he said roughly. “I have many regrets,” Arthur continued honestly, “but you’ve never counted among them. And a life with you and Jon? There’s not a sword in the world I’d trade it for. I love you, Lya. I could never imagine a life without you.” There was a vulnerability in his voice and in his eyes, one Lyanna never could have imagined in the Sword of the Morning. Arthur Dayne, _Ser Arthur Dayne_ looked at her almost warily, baring his beating heart to her as if with a word she could strike him down. It was so completely, utterly jarring that Lyanna couldn’t help the laughter bubbling from her mouth.

There was a flash of hurt in Arthur’s eyes, and Lyanna felt him close off as he tried to pull away. Without thinking, Lyanna reached up again and fisted the back of Arthur’s hair tightly, startling him for the first time she could remember. Lyanna knew that she’d carry the sight of Arthur Dayne caught completely off-guard to her dying day, and she pulled the knight down to her height and grinned against his lips.

“I love you too, stupid,” Lyanna returned, kissing him back. Arthur’s hands shot to the hem of her tunic, and without thinking, Lyanna helped him pull it off, gasping at the feel of Arthur’s body against her hot skin. Arthur pushed her gently to the ground until her back was on the sand and he loomed over her, balancing his weight on his forearms on either side of her head. She gasped at the contact of Arthur’s thumbs, the bracing sting of the cold night air, the rough callouses of his palms cupping her reverently, the feel of his lips on the side of her neck, and his warm, welcome weight pushing her down.

Over Arthur’s shoulder, Lyanna could see that the sun had finally set and the night sky lit with stars. _I have a star of her own_ , Lyanna thought. _And we’ll face the next day together._ Arthur came back up for another kiss just as his fingers trailed down her stomach and under the waist of her trousers and _oh…_

_Perhaps exile isn’t so bad after all._

**Author's Note:**

> I blame https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossfirehurricane/pseuds/lyannas
> 
> and https://archiveofourown.org/users/dhazellouise/pseuds/dhazellouise
> 
> for getting me hung up of this pairing. So, if you liked this story, read their works!!!And if you didn't and want to see it done better, read their works!!!!  
>  
> 
> Will NOT be updated regularly, but I have a bunch of half-finished stuff that I'll put here when I finish them.


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